by B. N. Toler
I let out a long breath. “This is a bad idea,” I told Courtney. She smiled then took another gulp of her water.
“Probably,” she agreed with a chuckle. “But it’ll make for a great story.”
“Hello? Hannah,” Taz called my name, drawing me out of my thoughts. He’d only just managed to get his laughter under control while I was replaying the fact I had agreed to a second date with the infamous Wren. What in the hell was I thinking? Was I mad?
Seeing I was flustered and humiliated, Taz tilted his head in a sympathetic nod. “Hey, kid. We’ve all embarrassed ourselves at some point or another. And look on the bright side, you don’t know him. You’ll probably never see him again.”
I let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Probably not,” I responded. I decided not to tell Taz about the second date. That way, if it did end as disastrous as the first, which I was almost positive it would, I wouldn’t have to explain it. I could just move on and really pretend I’d never met Wren.
The slip at Rus’s
What is it about humans where we can clearly see something we are about to do is a bad idea, but we do it anyway? Why? Why must we move forward into disaster?
I was a smart man. Damn smart, if I did say so myself. I was one of the most highly trained counter-terrorism and security professionals in the world. I’d been trained to read people by their mannerisms; the way they moved and spoke. Reading people was what I did best. And I had read Hannah, loud and clear. Like an open fucking book. And she was a disaster.
So why the fuck was I driving over an hour to see her again?
Why?
Asking her for a do-over had been hard for me. It showed a weakness I didn’t like. But she’d fought me on it, and if I was being honest, my alpha ego kicked in and I got caught up in the chase. She hadn’t just jumped in my lap and panted like a starving dog when I’d asked her out again. She’d ignored me.
I didn’t like that too much.
Then she’d questioned my motives. I didn’t have an answer for that. She might as well have asked me what the nuclear composition of an atom was. I had no idea, but I would’ve been more likely to answer that question than: Why would you want to see me again?
As I parked in front of Rus’s, the same bar we had met at on our first date, dread anchored in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t been thrilled about meeting here again. It was a nice small-town bar, but I’d wondered if maybe going somewhere a bit livelier wouldn’t have made it easier for us. Maybe a little distraction, like music or crowds wouldn’t make it feel like there was so much pressure. But this was the place she’d picked, so I’d went with it.
Despite the similar scent of stale beer and fried food inundating me as I entered the bar, when my eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting I noticed the Tuesday-night crowd was quite different from the weekend crowd. I had no idea why she liked this place so much. I spotted her immediately, but she didn’t notice me. Her long hair was draped over one shoulder and she was wearing threaded jeans and a tank top. She hadn’t dressed up as much as she had last time. I wondered if that was intentional. Maybe she decided not to waste any more of her time on me until she knew I was worth it. I wasn’t complaining, though. I’d come straight from work; still wearing my sweaty work clothes. But the woman said pick a time and be on time, so when I’d had to work late it was either shower and be late, or show up like this. However dressed down she was, she still looked pretty. Maybe even better in some ways, like she was comfortable. That was probably a good thing. She was turned slightly, her attention seemingly fixed on a couple at a table in the back. At quick glance, I wondered if she knew them, but I figured she’d have spoken to them if she did. The longing gaze gave her away. They were an attractive pair, in their thirties like us. Other than that, I wasn’t sure what she might find so interesting about them.
Once I was behind her, I bent so that my head was close to hers without touching. Damn it, she smelled really fucking good. “Hannah,” I growled, causing her to jerk.
Turning to me, she laughed as she pushed some hair behind her ear. “Nice, Wren,” she said dryly. Then pressing the button on her cell where it sat at the bar, she widened her eyes and released an exaggerated gasp.
“You’re actually on time.” Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes as if she was in thought. “Did hell just freeze over?” Smartass.
“Ah, crazy girl’s got jokes,” I jabbed as I plopped down in the seat beside her.
She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Is that what name I’m saved under on your contact list? Crazy girl?”
I smirked. “Maybe.” It wasn’t, but I liked the banter we had going on. We were making light of the awkward shit. This, I could do. Sarcasm was my forte.
She smiled, that kind of smile that happens just before you laugh but it never quite makes it there. Shrugging one shoulder, she replied, “At least I’m memorable.”
That was an understatement, I thought to myself. I snorted before I could stop myself, but she didn’t acknowledge it.
We both ordered a drink and as we waited I asked, “You were watching that couple back there when I came in. Do you know them?”
She grimaced a little, maybe embarrassed I’d caught her staring at them. “No. I don’t know them. Just…saw something I couldn’t look away from.”
I wrinkled my brow. “You think that dude is hot or something?” I wanted to punch myself for asking that question. It made me sound like I cared if she did or didn’t think he was good-looking, like I was jealous. And I wasn’t.
“No, not his looks. He looks fine.”
I stared at her, waiting for her to explain. She glanced back at me and twisted her mouth. “If I tell you, you’ll just tell me I’m crazy…again.”
“Ah, but you’ll be memorable, remember?” I pointed out.
I could tell she didn’t want to tell me when she scrunched her nose, she was fighting it, but she was going to. When she pointed toward the door, I followed her line of sight. An older couple was entering, both gray-haired. The woman wore a sweatshirt even though it was June and damn warm outside, and the man was dressed in shorts and blindingly white sneakers with Velcro. The man stood opening the door for the woman, letting her in before him.
“Okay,” I said, letting her know I was ready for her to explain. “What am I looking at here?”
Leaning toward me, she hooked her hand around my arm, resting it on my bicep, her chin resting on my shoulder. Her voice low, she explained, “When they entered, he opened the door for her.”
“I saw that,” I replied. And I had, I’d watched everything she described, but my attention at that moment was more focused on where she was touching me.
“But did you see the way his hand found her lower back once they entered? How he rested it there and guided her gently inside? Or did you notice how she held her head up high, the confidence she carries herself with?”
We both continued to watch the couple as they waited for the hostess to seat them. “Look how she leans toward him when she speaks to him,” Hannah murmured. “It’s almost flirtatious.” I wasn’t looking at her face, but I could hear the soft smile in Hannah’s voice. “They might have been together a lifetime and he still makes her feel precious; like the only woman in the room. And he still feels lucky to have her.” Resting her chin deeper on my shoulder, letting the weight settle, I don’t think she realized she was doing it, and I stilled not wanting to spook her. It was the first time she’d touched me…at least in a natural way. She sighed. “That’s a beautiful thing. That’s the kind of thing that makes my heart happy.”
When she leaned back in her seat, releasing my arm, her warmth left with her. Twisting in my seat, I faced her again. The bartender had placed our drinks in front of us and she was already sipping hers. I cleared my throat and picked up my beer. “So that’s why you were watching that couple in the back? They made you happy?”
Setting her drink down, she sighed again, but this time with disappointment. “No. That was somethin
g else.” I glanced back at the couple she’d been watching when I’d entered. A young blonde waitress had just dropped off the check and as she walked away, the man stared at her ass. Not just a casual glance, but a full-on, lean-over-and-watch-her-walk-away look at her ass.
“He’s looked at every woman in this bar but the woman sitting at the table with him,” Hannah noted.
“Maybe they’re not together?” I suggested.
“They both have rings on their ring fingers,” she argued.
“Men look sometimes.” And that was true. We couldn’t help it sometimes. It doesn’t always mean we’re sex-obsessed assholes, it’s just nature. “Was he a douche about it? Yes,” I agreed. “But he’s not inhuman.”
Hannah shook her head. “I know. It’s her. It’s how blind she is.”
“Huh? What?”
“She doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.”
I watched her as she stared at the couple. “Did it occur to you that maybe she does notice?”
Twisting her neck, she cut her gaze to me. “And what? She’s pretending she doesn’t notice?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. In my experience, people choose to see, or not see, what they want to.”
“You think she’s playing dumb?”
“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t settle on one conclusion. Life is complicated and assumptions only do one thing.”
She flattened her mouth in a look of annoyance. “Makes an ass out of you and me,” she mumbled.
“Precisely.”
“You’re so cliché,” she snickered.
“Hey.” I waggled a firm finger at her. “Never judge a book by its cover.”
She snorted, moving her gaze to her drink, her eyes hooded in disappointment. “I think I’m right about them. I think she thinks she’s his world.”
“Hannah,” I said her name softly. “She probably is. You don’t know what he feels for her. Maybe he’s having an off day. You’re assuming too much about a casual observation.” I didn’t find it so odd that she observed them, or even that she’d noted her thoughts about them, but I was confused as to why she seemed to take it so personally; almost as if she felt obligated to carry the painful burden of this woman’s supposed ignorance.
“No, I’m not,” she insisted. “If he wants to look at other women, he could at least respect her enough to do it when she’s not around. He’s being blatant. And that’s the kind of thing that breaks my heart.”
“Really?” I snorted.
“Yes, really.”
“So you think you’re going to find a man that will commit to you and only you and never look at another woman again?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, not. But that guy,” she jabbed her thumb in his direction, “is a douche. And that woman is blind.”
“And it’s none of your business,” I argued. “And since it’s not your business, you shouldn’t take it so personally.”
Scowling at me, she retorted, “I’m not taking it personally. It just makes me sad.”
I shook my head. Women. Sometimes it seemed like they just needed something to be upset about. Flashing a cold glance at me, I assumed noting my frustration, she remarked, “You asked, Wren.” Her tone sounded deflated, as if she were ashamed of herself—of her thoughts. “I told you, you’d just say I was crazy.”
She took a long swig of her drink, and I scratched the back of my neck, unsure of what to say. Apparently, she didn’t either. Her gaze was downcast; she was visibly upset by this. But why? Why did she care so much? I couldn’t ask. I just couldn’t. This was too deep for a second date, which was really a do-over first date. I was perceptive. I knew there was more to this, that this little freak-out was personal for her in some way. She had baggage written all over her. But today wasn’t the day to delve into that. I was already questioning my own sanity for asking her out again, I didn’t need to give her any more reasons to scare me off. My best bet was to change the subject and hope we sailed into smoother waters. This subject was destined to tank our evening. Raising her hand to brush some hair behind her ear, I noticed there was something written on her palm. I didn’t even think about it as I gently grabbed her wrist, holding it still while I read what was written on her hand.
Don’t overthink it.
“What is this?” I smirked after reading it. Pulling her hand from me, she fisted it and held it to her stomach almost protectively, a grimace taking her features.
Shaking her head, she answered, “Just a reminder to myself.”
I blinked a few times, wondering if she’d elaborate. She didn’t. Again, I wasn’t sure if I should push and ask her about it or let it go.
“I Googled dolphin training,” she said. Okay then. Looks like we were moving on.
I stared blankly at her. Her statement had thrown me. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Was she going to ream me again? I wanted to believe she was attempting to be humorous, but the subject had been a sensitive one the last time it came up. “Oh yeah?”
“So you weren’t lying. About the dolphins, anyway.” She smirked. It’s not well known, but what I’d told her about the U.S. and Russia using dolphins during war was true. The part about me training them might have been a bit of a lie. Well, not a bit. It was an actual lie. But I thought it was funny. “Why’d you do that?”
I tilted my head. “Do what?”
“Lie about that being your job. Why didn’t you just tell me what you did?”
Busted. Taking my glass, I took a gulp then answered her. “Sounds a lot cooler than the truth, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t say cooler.” She shook her head. “I’d say more unique.”
Then, before I could respond, she changed the subject yet again. “What kind of music do you like?”
We sat for hours, drinking, talking, and laughing, shockingly discovering we had quite a bit in common. Whatever hostility we’d experienced on our first date wasn’t present tonight. It was everything our first date should have been. As we walked out to our cars at the end of the evening, we stood at the tailgate of my truck, neither of us knowing what to say—that awkward and drawn-out moment most people experience just before sharing a first kiss. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans that hung low on her hips, revealing the slightest peek of tan flesh.
A typical man would have said something sweet; romantic, like: You’re pretty or What an amazing evening it’s been. But I wasn’t the typical man.
“I feel like this evening wasn’t as eventful as our last date,” I teased. “You wanna mace me and shake things up a bit?”
She pressed her lips together, stopping herself from smiling as she covered her face with her hands. “Ugh,” she let out a muffled groan. “Erase that from your memory. That was so humiliating.”
I nodded a little too enthusiastically. “I can see how you’d feel that way.”
Like a whip, she lashed out a hand and slapped my arm. It didn’t hurt, but I winced and grabbed my bicep, feigning pain. “Ouch. Crazy and abusive.”
She chuckled softly. “Stop teasing me, Wren.”
I didn’t stop, but I did soften up a bit. “Okay, you weren’t completely insane tonight.” Sarcasm was my native language; a second skin of sorts—one I could never shed. If we were going to hang again, she was going to have to start getting used to it, maybe even grow a second skin herself.
She snorted, a grin breaking out across her face as she shook her head at me like I was ridiculous. “And you weren’t a total asshole.”
Taking a chance, I stepped toward her. She didn’t back away. That was a good sign that a first kiss was in the making. Looking down at her, I couldn’t help but chuckle. She was a little woman—I was probably over a foot taller than her.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one noticing the height difference because she said, “Maybe we should be sitting down for this. I have to bend my head all the way back just to look up at you.”
“I know,”
I agreed. “You’re practically hobbit-sized. But I’m a ‘the glass is half full’ kind of guy. There is a positive to you being so short.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I have a pretty wicked view of your cleavage from up here.”
She laughed, smacking my arm again. Damn. I really liked her laugh.
“You’re a real charmer, Wren.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? It just comes naturally.”
We both chuckled, and as the humor faded, her features softened as she stared up at me, her dark eyes scanning my face. As I gazed down at her, I fought the urge to brush my fingertips across the light speckling of freckles that lined her cheekbones. She was a combination of woman and girl, cute and sexy, classic yet simple. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips and I nearly lost it. But I really wanted her to lean in; I wanted to know she wanted to kiss me as badly as I wanted to kiss her. I knew traditionally guys usually made the first move, but with Hannah and the craziness of our interactions thus far, I felt like she should be the one to make the first move.
But I discovered quickly I had called it wrong. When I didn’t move for her, the nervous-but-wanting gaze I had seen pooled in her eyes only moments before pulled away from mine and she moved to step back. Her mouth tightened. She thought she’d read this wrong; she thought I didn’t want to kiss her. She’d wanted me to make the first move and when I didn’t, she’d felt rejected. Taking her by the hips, I pulled her to me and bent, my lips finding hers with the perfect contact—not too soft, not too hard. There was an awkward moment of adjustment, but once it passed, our kiss deepened. Her body relaxed in my arms and as our mouths moved against each other’s, she whimpered softly. She tasted like whiskey and something sweet, probably her lip gloss. She was so tiny, I felt like I could wrap my arms around her twice. Putting her hands on my shoulders, she raised up on her tiptoes, but it didn’t help our height difference much. I still appreciated the gesture though. When the kiss started to become fevered, she fisted my shirt, and I threaded my fingers in her hair. I felt that kiss everywhere, a slow burn filling me. Suddenly, she pulled back, placing a firm hand on my chest to create some distance between us as we both caught our breath. She hadn’t expected it to be that good. Neither had I. I realized this woman was so much more than met the eye. There were several things that made me nervous about Hannah—things that screamed at me to flee. But her ability to surprise me…I liked that.
